Real
by SuicideKitten
Summary: Gordo's life is less than perfect as he learns to deal with an unsatisfactory homelife, his love of a friend, his own depression and his unhealthy methods of coping. . . More chapters coming soon!
1. White Heat

A single salty stream ran down Gordo's sallow cheeck as he vehemently pulled a pillow tightly over his ears in an attempt to block out his parents screaming downstairs. He couldn't make out what they were saying, nor did he try to anymore. This had gone on for so long. Waking up, a five year old child, walking downstairs for breakfast and stepping on a broken piece of glass from some plate or figurine broken the night before. Gordo could still remember the anger he felt, while he sat on the floor of his closet, up in his room, the lights turned out, his knees pulled tightly against his chest. Just a child. Now that he was older- a freshman in highschool- the fighting still continued. First he felt saddness. He felt upset that his parents were so unhappy that a simple thing like "Who misplaced the remote control" could sent them off into a rage, throwing plates across the room, smashing everything of value into bits and pieces that would be left for him to clean up in the morning. The screaming and crying and hysterical mania all made him feel this deep saddness in the pit of his stomach. A yearning to make everything all right. Next, came shame. He felt ashamed that his friend's parents didn't fight like this. And even if they did, at least they did it in secrecy, in privacy, not while their children were having friends over. Not during his birthday parties. Not out at resturaunts while everyone was watching. From these thoughts, came the anger. This was the stage where Gordo would get up and throw something around in his room. Never anything breakable, no, he was too scared to do that. Usually a pillow or something silly like that. This was always followed by screaming into his bed, pulling the sheets up around his mat of black curls. Then came the breakdown. The angry screaming turned into sobs. Thick, heaving sobs that his parents were angry and sad, and all he could do is hate them for it. But they loved him. Why did he have to be so inconsiderate? This brought on the guilt. A deep throbbing guilt. Completely irrational, but no less painful then the guilt of killing a kitten or betraying your best friend. Gordo thought about this, and wondered where he got those two ideas from. Of course they weren't as bad as his normal thoughts. Often, in normal conversation with a friend or aquaintance, Gordo would have these strange visions, thoughts, feelings or urges. For instance, sometimes he'd picture a long needle stretching out and piercing someone through the temple as the blood trickled mockingly down their face. They would usually smile, or just not react. Then sometimes he'd have urges. For example, he'd be talking to his teacher and get an urge to throw a stapler at their head. For no reason, mind. Just because he felt he had to do it. Once, when he was five, he followed one of these urges and pushed a little three year old girl off a table. The cherry Cool-Aid she'd been drinking ran down her little white jean shirt and shorts as her hair filled with mulch and dirt. Gordo had been grounded for this baffling act, but it felt satisfying, worth it. Still, usually he suppressed these urges and just replaced them with guilt, hatred and saddness. Right now, Gordo was attempting to ignore these stages and just pretend they weren't fighting. That they were actually having a "discussion" as they told him so many times as a child. Denial was such a problem for some people but Gordo figured it was only a problem because they couldn't realize how good they had it. He wished he could forget, or at least just block out the pain. It was bad enough that Gordo had some sort of chemical imbalance. No doctor had said this, because Gordo never told his family about his thoughts of suicide and his deep depressions, but he'd researched enough online to do a self diagnosis. Aside from his many books and movies, the depression was all he had. Of course, he also had his friends, Lizzie and Miranda, but they were no help. Too superficial to realize they were superficial and besides, Gordo had a facade of happiness that he intended to keep. By being sarcastic and "not caring" what other people thought, Gordo could fend off any inqueries or suspicious minds. Besides, Gordo had this strange obsession with Lizzie, which put an invisible strain on the friendship, that no one but Gordo saw. Was it love? He couldn't tell.  
  
With final images of Lizzie McGuire circling his mind, Gordo had fallen asleep, somewhat happy and was now waking up to a stream of milky yellow light peering through his vertical blinds and gently kissing his eyelids. It was Saturday. Gordo could tell because he had not been jolted out of bed by the din of his flashing digital alarm clock. It's blinding red numbers read that it was already 11:30. Gordo lazily flung himself out of bed, resting one foot on the floor for about a minute before finally convincing the rest of his body to follow suit. His plaid pajama bottoms dragged slightly under his bare feet as he lifted a hand to scratch the pale, skinny torso that rested under his mismatched blue shirt. Pausing in front of the bathroom door, he rubbed his eyes and stretched, giving out a great yawn that sounded almost painful. His parent's bedroom door was closed. His mother was asleep. She always slept late after a fight and would probably sleep the rest of the day, waking once or twice to use the restroom or make some coffee. His father was at work. Opening the bathroom door, Gordo followed through with the menial morning tasks of teeth brushing and showering, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans (that had only been sitting on his floor for a week) and a comb through his hair. Now, for the rest of the day he would just sit around watching tv, movies, reading and snacking. A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he attempted to block out teasing memories of the night before. He felt he needed to clear his head, so without thinking he ran outside, slamming the door behind him. Immeadiately, the thick summer air pennetrated his skin, sinking into his bones and transforming into sweat. Still, he ran. He ran until it hurt and his blood pumped battery acid. Something about it though, the pain . . . felt good.  
  
Gordo stopped when he saw something glistening on the dry concrete desert, about five feet in front of him. Walking slowly up to it, panting as his body switched gears, he was soon able to make out the shape and give the object a name. Razor blade. Gently, he bent down, his knees still above the ground and reached for the object. Watching the light bounce off it's metallic exterior, Gordo smiled in awe. Almost mechanically, he pocketed the razor blade and walked on, this time very slowly, very meticulously. Small shadows, hanging off the trees graced his cheeks and arms softly, ineffectively sheilding him from the blinding summer sunlight. The sky seemed to be almost white, shining with heat, angry heat. Gordo, very suddenly, turned to walk home. 


	2. Love or Obsession?

On the sturdy plastic computer table that sat across from his bed, lay Gordo's open year book. It's pages had som signatures and well wishes, but one particular page seemed to take on it's own life, filled with a longing nursed by obsession. Across the room, the blue comforter lay crumpled on the floor. Near it lay a book, by William Blake. Other than that, and a few school books and pieces of notebook paper, the room was clean. Still it have a "lived in" look, that could make a person feel comfortable in it. Gordo stood in the bathroom, mindlessly brushing his teeth. He spit out a gob of blue spit and heaved a deep sigh. How did the weekend go by so quickly? It was already 10 minutes until he needed to catch the bus, by Gordo was in no mood to hurry. Quickly, he finished brushing his teeth and pulled on his shoes. His hair was a mess of dark curls, and he hadn't brushed it, but he liked the way it looked so he grabbed his backpack and left. His parents were both working and they would be gone when he got home.  
  
It was still very early when the bus arrived at school. The orange sun was rising up through a mist of pastel blues and pinks. High School. A tall brick building, laden with large windows and paw prints (the symbol of their school mascot). The scattered colours of students wearing the latest styles, from t-shirts sporting some underground alternative band, to others that said some crude but funny statement. From girls in peasant shirts, to boys in tight pants, from tank tops to short skirts, from vintage tee's to non- perscription, horn rimmed glasses. The school was a zoo. Covered in cement sidewalks and linoleum floors, all lit by blinding flourescent lights, it was, a prison. Gordo walked through the hallways, unnoticed by the mobs of teenagers around him. Teachers walked past seeming even more miserable and dissillusioned than the students they taught. A living breathing hypocrisy. That was high school. Gordo thought back to middle school when everything seemed easy. 'Ignorance really is bliss', he thought to himself somberly.  
A little ways ahead of him he saw her. Those long strips of beautiful blonde hair twirling in the wind like the silver chimes that hung outside his window at home. He could hear her hair too, just like them, sparkling out a hymn of beauty . . . calling out to him. Round pink lips were all he saw as she turned to him and they spread into a smile, revealing two rows of glistening pearls. Quickly, Gordo responded with his typical half smile and nod of the head. Tossing his hand up in the air in a casual wave. "Hey Lizzie," he said as enthusiastically as he possibly could on a gloomy, early morning like this.  
"Hey Gordo," she responded kindly.  
"Yeah, go ahead and ignore me," Miranda said rolling her eyes at Gordo's obvious infatuation with Lizzie.  
"Hey, Miranda. Uh, sorry. I'm a little distracted . . . there's a, big test, in um, Chemistry today. I'm nervous."  
"Oh, please Gordo, you shouldn't be worried, you always make straight A's," Lizzie said smiling.  
"Yeah, well, I wasn't born a genius . . . we brilliant people must study too," he was working hard to supress the rouge that was fighting to show in his cheeks.  
"Oh, my God, guess who talked to me this morning," Lizzie spouted suddenly. Bursting with the answer before anyone could get a word in she squeeked out, "Ethan Craft! Eek!"  
"Wow, go Lizzie . . . what did he say?" Miranda said, a tinge of envy in her voice.  
"Oh, well, he asked me what the homework was, but he seemed really interested-," as Miranda rolled her eyes and Gordo looked to the ground, Lizzie added, "Okay, so I know I'm pathetic, but just humor me. I mean, I know I've had a crush on Ethan for like ever, and I never have a chance with him, but I don't have a chance with any of the other guys either-"  
"Why would you say that?" Gordo blurted without thinking.  
"Because I've been in highschool for almost a year now and I haven't had one date or even one boy talk to me as anything but just a friend-"  
"That's not true, I-", Gordo paused.  
"You what?" Lizzie asked hesitantly, yet intregued.  
"I've heard guys say you were pretty and really cool. And you're not pathetic for liking Ethan, I mean, I don't really understand it, but, you could never be pathetic you're-"  
The bell sounded throughout the hallways. Gordo hastily grabbed his things and rushed off saying goodbye to Lizzie and Miranda's baffled expressions. Gordo thought about what an idiot he had been, the stupid things he said. Their conversations were becoming awkward small talk. He just didn't know how to act around his best friend. He didn't understand his feelings or his thoughts.  
The school day, as every other, went by in a blur. Gordo sat in each class tapping his pencil against the side of his desk or tearing apart paper, letting the pieces rain to the floor. Each day was like this. Every moment filled with regret. He wanted the day to go by as quickly as possible, so he could get home, crawl into bed and be away from life. Still, this felt like an awful waste of his youth, and he hated the fact that he hated being awake. That every day, he just wished it were night.  
The resounding school bell rang in his ears all the way home. The feeling of failure and guilt clung to his insides like a fly being tightly bound to a spider's web. The drive home was as usual, he spoke to no one. He simply sat, head leaning against his shoulder, eyes peering out at a better life, a better world that seemed completely disconnected from his. Finally, the yellow monster, that gobbled up even more of these students precious lives, polluting the world along the way, stopped down the street from Gordo's house, near a bench and a blue and white sign that read "Bus Stop". Feeling that wet heat smack into his face, Gordo heaved out a heavy sigh and began the walk home, along the cracked sidewalk, weeds sprouting up between. Even from an outside view, the house at the end of the block, with its blue shutters and white trim, stood silent and menacing. It emmited a dangerous scent of betrayal and anger. Reluctantly, Gordo stepped up onto the walkway, leaning over first to check the blue, tin mailbox to see if any letters lay inside. Two were there: bills. Gordo then, prepared himself with a deep breath and traversed his way into his own home that he hated so much, he feared. Everything looked quiet. Settled. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no clothes or newspapers sprawled on the couch or dining room table. The house was clean and sparkling, as usual. With a roll of his eyes, and a special effort to dirty up the place a bit by kicking off his shoes and tossing them messily onto the floor, Gordo headed upstairs to his room. With the lights off everything seemed to have an ironic glow. The small bit of light that crept in through the blinds in the window, seemed to cling to certain objects, outlining them. These objects seemed happier than the rest. Chosen. Special. Gordo walked over to his desk and took one glance, or rather, one very long gaze at the picture he had been staring at the night before in his open year book. Her hair shone with a golden glow, that seemed lit by her smile. He touched her face and said her name aloud. "Lizzie." Quickly turning his head now, he slammed the book shut and placed it on his bookshelf with the rest. Popping a few tylenol pms into his mouth, he trudged slowly to his bed, slumping down in it as if he'd been walking for days with no food or water. The light still shone ambiguously through the window pane. The yearbook shone back, lit up by the glow. Special. 


	3. Trigger

Finally, the week had ended. Saturday morning settled upon the neighborhood, bringing with it a damp summer heat, that sunk itself into rooftops and beds of grass, and reflected ambiguously off every car on the block. Heaving himself out of bed, his blanket hanging lazily, half off the side of the bed, Gordo extended his arms above his head and let out a heavy yawn. He could hear the vague sound of dishes clattering together and running water. 'Oh, no,' he thought brisky. 'She's cleaning'. This always meant his mother was angry. Probably at his father, but she always took it out on Gordo. Still, he shrugged it off and decided to just stay very quiet, tightly locked up in his room all day. He began the day with an hour or so on the computer, downloading music and digitally editing a new video project for school, tv production class. Eyes glued to the screen and fingers tapping away, his gaze was never broken, even when taking sips out of his 3 day old bottle of Mountain Dew he kept stashed in his cabinet, and only tearing his fingers from the keyboard to use the mouse, which was actually a continual transition. Eventually, he tired of the digital world and shut down his friend. Swivelling in his chair playfully a few times, he then leaned over- exerting the smallest amount of effort possible- and reached out a hand to grab a book off his shelf. This was a blind decision he made occasionally. He loved every book on that shelf and had read them all at least 4 times a piece, so it really didn't matter which one he chose. This particular time, it was "Nine Stories", by J.D. Salinger. Every short story in this collection was an amazing wonder. He opened to the first story, "A Perfect Day for Bananafish", and began to take in each of it's 18 pages, savoring each line like a fine chocolate or a passionate kiss from an exotic stranger. Delicately flicking each page back to reveal a new passage, Gordo's eyes flicked from line to paragraph, barely pausing for periods. Occasionally, he would break for a moment to take a sip from his drink, but for the most part, his eyes never left those pages. Eventually, he turned to the final page, the end of this one soon approaching, while the begining of the next one stood there, staring ambiguously up at him. Proceeding on, he moved cautiously into the final paragraph. "Then he went and sat down on the unoccupied twin bed, looked at the girl, aimed the pistol, and fired a bullet through his right temple." This last part. This surprise ending to a beautiful story, always gave Gordo this sinking feeling. A drowning, suffocating feeling, too powerful to describe.  
Gordo then got out of his chair. No, fell, out of his chair, too depressed and tired to lift himself off the beige carpet. He managed to suck in a quivering, painful breath, and then, after a moment lying still on the floor, he pressed his hands against the ground beneath him and felt his body lifting forcefully upward. With drops of yellow sunlight carefully decorating his walls, he looked around, and then made the somewhat painful decision to venture downstairs.  
Taking each step silently, Gordo rested one hand on the banister and kept his eyes on the floor as he traversed the stairs leading into the living room. The room was silent, which was strange. He had expected to see his mother, dashing around the house, busy cleaning away her troubles. Yelling at him, to eat a good breakfast and come help her do yard work. However, he couldn't see her or hear her, anywhere. He chanced a trip into the family room to watch some television. When he entered the room, his eyes were glued to the maroon couch, covered in beige pillows that matched the carpet. It looked so comfortable, so inviting. With his mind set on this destination, he didn't even notice that his mother was sitting on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of the couch. Then, he smelled something he hadn't smelt in this house since he was five. Smoke. Immeadiately jetting his eyes up toward the scent, he saw his mother, dressed in a tight pink shirt and dark pair of blue jeans. Her legs were crossed tightly together, with one arm tightly holding her side, draped across her lap. The other hand held a sleek white cigarette. She pulled the thin smoke stack into her lips, which had been painted crimson. The rest of her face was done up in thick make up as well. Blowing white fog out her nostrils, Gordo saw his mother as he had never seen her before. Her dark eyes were fixed straight ahead. She didn't look at him. Her hair was dirty blonde, with obvious dark brown roots. It had grown stringy at the ends and her bangs had grown out a little too long. Half her hair was up in a bun, while the rest of hit hung heavily, framing her face. Gordo could see the creases in her face more than ever now. Her shoulders slumped forward, very slightly, from years of bad posture. She took another long drag on her cigarette, this time, holding in the smoke a moment longer, then simply opening her mouth as the pallid smoke dripped out of her mouth. Gordo stood, his mouth agape, with a shocked look on his face. One had clenched the remote control, as he had grabbed for it, right before he saw his mother. He felt the need to say something, but no words would come out. His mother solved that problem for him. "Sit down," she said, in a deep, brooding voice, her eyes still fixed. Gordo obliged, that same shocked look still glued to his face. There was a long moment of silence, while she intermittently took swigs on her smoke stack. Finally, she spoke again. "David, I have something to tell you." She didn't smile. Her lips were pursed in a defiant position. Her eyes never wavered from their stare. "I love you," she said this casually and Gordo wished she'd sounded more convincing, "and your father, but, I think you are smarter than he or I give you credit for. I think you know what's been going on. I'm not happy, David." When she said that last sentence, she leaned down to tap a few ashes off the end of her cigarette. Gordo's astonished look had faded. Now he looked scared, confused and sad. His eyes were fighting to look anywhere but at his mother. He was terrified at what she would tell him. Her voice was so defiant. So uncaring, unflinching, unloving. He winced as she continued. "I'm leaving your father." Gordo's heart sank into his stomach. He had no voice to speak with, otherwise he would have said something. Anything. "It's not your fault." She said this as though it were a script she were reading, not something coming from her heart. "I'm leaving today. You'll stay here. You need a home. I just, have to go. I'm not happy, David. You want me to be happy, don't you david?" This time her eyes found their way to him, lingering there for a response. Gordo could not speak, even if he had something to say. She obviously took his silence as acceptance. Lifting herself off of her seat she walked over to him. His head was still turned away from her. His eyes seemed to spasm, in an attempt to find a way out of this world of discomfort. She pulled one hand up to his face and touched his cheek, her long painted false fingernails pressing against his cheekbone. Then, she turned away and walked over to the stairway. Gordo immeadiately turned his head toward her back which was facing his way. He hadn't seen them there before, but now he could plainly see three suitcases, varying in size. His mouth fell open again. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Turning forward he watched the smoke dance up from the ashtray where she had carelessly dropped her cigarette. He was determined not to look around again. She wouldn't leave him. If he didn't see her go she'd be back here making him breakfast. The heavy greasy scent of bacon and eggs would fill the room, instead of that thick smell of smoke. Just while he was begining to believe these hopeful thoughts, the loud thud of the front door slamming shut resounded through the house. It was followed by a car starting, and the screech of it driving away. Silence filled the room, as Gordo fell onto the couch, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. 


	4. Telephone Call

Each step felt painful, as Gordo's hand now clutched the light oak banister, as he literally dragged himself up to his room. When he reached the white door, he felt his hand touch the cold metal knob, but when he went to turn it and push the door open, he noticed it felt thick and heavy. Or maybe it was just him. Perhaps the strength had been sucked from his body. It sure felt like it. Then again, maybe his entire world collapsing wouldn't be so bad . . .  
You could cut the silence in the room with a knife. The only sound that filled Gordo's bedroom, was the nearly silent buzz of his computer as little pictures of Lizzie bounced around his screen saver. He felt his entire body shaking, yet he didn't have the strength to stop it. To move. To breathe. As he drifted away, his newest family problems thickening on his heart like cement, his mind finally settled on something beautiful, to take the pain away. His love, his Lizzie. She waved to him, dancing about, her blonde hair spraying out around her in immitation of her skirt that twirled as she spun around. This one image gave him the strength to finally breathe again. To think about what needed to be done. Yet instead of planning what he would say to his father, when he came home from his business trip, or what he would do on Monday, and the days after that, Gordo could only think of one thing to do. His right hand, still quivering slightly, reached over to the jet black, cordless phone stationed to the left of his computer. It hovered above the phone for a few seconds as Gordo seemed to be deciding whether or not to pick it up. Then, very suddenly, he snatched up the phone and dialed the number before he could change his mind.  
"Hello?" A sweet female voice sounded out from the other side of the phone.  
"Lizzie? Hey, it's Gordo."  
"Yeah, I kinda got that. . . I've only known you since I was, what, two?"  
Gordo chuckled, "Yeah. So, uh, how are you?"  
"I'm fine . . . are you okay?" She seemed to ask the last part rather incredulously.  
Gordo was caught off guard. "Oh, um, yeah. Of course. Why do you ask?"  
"I don't know. It's just that you never really call me, just to talk. I mean, it's always like, if we're going to do something, or if you have a problem or something. I don't know, I just thought maybe-"  
"Everything's fine," Gordo said, abruptly, but sweetly.  
"Okay, cool. So, what's up?"  
"Not much. Um, well I have to go, so I'll see you at school on Monday, okay? Bye." At this, Gordo hung up the phone, smacking himself in the forehead at how foolish he'd been. Why couldn't he just tell his best friend what had happened? He did have a problem, and he needed reassurance. On the other end of the line, Lizzie stared at the phone a few seconds, a bewildered expression frozen on her face. She then shrugged and hung up the phone. 


	5. Relief

Fast asleep, Gordo's dreams fluttered back and forth between his parents, school and Lizzie. She looked so beautiful, he pressed his mind to hold onto her image, but something awful would always happen to her. He'd reach out to save her, but it was always too late. That's partially why, when a resounding bang came from the front door, Gordo woke with a start, and a headache. 'Dad's home,' he thought. Still the question remained. Should he go downstairs and console his dad, tell him everything that happened? Or should he just go back to sleep? Or, should he just pretend like he knew nothing? Pretend the whole thing never happened. Push away that final image, of a moldering cigarette, lined with crimson lipstick, still lying in the ashtray downstairs. Push away from his mind that last sound to remember his mother by. The pound of the heavy oak door. The engine of her forest green Chevy, starting up and pulling away. Yet the time for decision making would come sooner than Gordo expected.  
"DAVID," his father screamed from the kitchen. "DAVID!"  
Without thinking Gordo threw the sheets from his bed and sprang onto the floor, dashing for the door and breathlessly running downstairs. At the foot of the stairs, he recomposed himself and tried to look calm and oblivious as he entered the family room.  
"David, there you are. Were you asleep?"  
Gordo looked at the clock. It was one in the morning. "Yeah dad, I was asleep."  
"Of course," his father said, realizing what time it was. "Have you seen this?"  
He handed Gordo a note, in script, his mother's handwriting. Gordo shook his head. His dad turned away, taking the letter with him, out of Gordo's curious reach. "Um, dad?"  
"Yeah," he said distractedly.  
"I saw her leave," he paused at his dad's desperate reaction. Yet this did not seem a time for words. "I, was here, in the family room," he paused again, considering how ironic that expression had become. "She was all dressed up, with make up, and-", he trailed off.  
Looking forlorn, almost completely lost, his father looked up. "Did she, say anything?"  
"Yeah. She said, she wasn't happy. And that I should stay here. That's about it."  
"She'll be back," his father said, shaking his head. "She'll be back." He began making his way toward the couch, repeating this, his speech softening each time.  
"Dad?"  
His father curled up on the couch, nearly in the fetal position and closed his eyes. "She'll come back," he said, and then that same heavy silence filled the room. Gordo, backed away, then made a dash for his room. The first thing he could think of to do, was to call Lizzie. But this time, he would speak to her, like he used to. He would say, "I'm in trouble, I need help" and she would oblige, because she was his best friend. She would tell him what to do, or just listen. Without thinking, he grabbed the phone and speed dialed her house. "Hello?" he heard at the other end. It was her voice. He'd been lucky. Then he paniced. What if she got in trouble for being on so late? What if she laughed at him? He froze as she said, "Hello?", again. "Listen you weirdo, I can hear you breathing, so just say-", she spouted angrily. Cutting her off, he slammed the phone down and banged his head against his desk repeatedly. Why was he so stupid? Immeadiately he flung himself out of his chair and began trashing his room, scattering books across the floor and ripping posters from the wall. Then, just as he was attempting to rip apart his bed sheets and instead settling for throwing his dirty clothes from their hamper, he saw something fly from the pocket of his jeans, and glimmer as it hit the floor. Everything just seemed to stop. He stood, amidst tattered papers and a tarnished floor, watching the object sparkle. Throwing the pair of jeans he'd been clutching in his hands, across the room, he knelt down and lifted the shiney object from it's place on the carpet. A glint of intreague now sparkling in his eyes, Gordo knew what the answer was. It seemed so clear. So stupid, yet so plainly clear. Eyes now fixed ahead of him, on his swivel chair, he sat down, and put both his arms on his desk. He spread out his fingers watching each one move. The razor he had been holding, dropped down on the desk with a faint thud and an ambiguous shimmer. He lifted the object in his right hand and made a miniscule insition on his left arm, just to see what it was like. To his surprise and joy, it felt amazing. It gave him, relief. The tiniest trickle of blood, seeped from the small scratch. This gave him hope. Confidence. Gordo went in for a second cut, this time, flipping his arm over, revealing the soft flesh beneath. Lowering the blade, he pressed it slightly against his skin, then swiped it across the width of his arm, watching as small bubbles of crimson decorated the gaping wound. It was an inch and a half wide and close to half an inch thick. A heavy river began to pour from the wound, spreading scarlet across his desk. Gordo sat there, letting it bleed, until a puddle had formed beneath it. Relief spread through every inch of his body, tickling his fingernails and warming his toes. His heart felt rejuvinated as light spread throughout his darkened soul. Still, the puddle was growing larger and Gordo felt it time to tend to his wound. He clutched it in his hand and dashed to the blathroom. There, he drenched the cut with hydrogen peroxide and suffocated it with tissue, pressing down hard to stop the bleeding. Eventually it stopped and Gordo covered the wound with a large bandage, but he felt something new, coming alive within him. Something that felt dangerous. Secretive. Wonderful. He lied on his back, facing up at the ceiling. In that position, he chose to stay for a solid twenty minutes. This was his relief. Those two crystal blue eyes flickered in amazement as he closed his eyes to fall asleep. 


	6. Lost and Alone

The next day at school, Gordo wore a long sleeved flannel shirt. He walked into school with his head down, heading straight for the library, attempting to avoid all friends and teachers. Once there, he found the nearest table, sat down and took out his history book. Opening it to page 35 he began reading, silently, trying to hide from the world around him. However, thoughts kept sneaking past his guard. Pausing to glance up at the clock, he began thinking about how, when he woke up at four o'clock this morning, his father was gone. Gordo was scared, somehow, deep within. He knew both of his parents wouldn't leave him, but if that were true, where's his father? Then the issue of the note kept creeping into his mind. What did it say? Why was she leaving? Quickly, Gordo darted his eyes back towards his paper, pushing all these thoughts away from his mind.  
  
It was now gym class. This was where Gordo got to spend alone time with Lizze. Yet, today, he didn't want to see her. He was terrified she'd see right through his facade. That she'd spout out, concern blatantly spread across her face, "Gordo, what's wrong? What's happened to you? What are you doing to yourself?". Then, as he thought about this cautiously, he began to realize that he was more terrified of the fact that she'd see nothing. That she'd go right along with whatever he said. When he'd say, "I'm okay", she'd reply, "cool", and that would be that. He was so terrified that what happened last night, wouldn't be a one time event. That what he did went much deeper. That whatever scar was left, would be no deeper than the one already left on his heart. As a nauseus feeling saturated his entire body, he began to dread seeing Lizzie more than ever. How she would hate hime if she ever found out . . . and how he would hate her if she didn't. Terrified now, he ran off to the field, not waiting for her as he normally did. The rest of the day, he completely avoided her as well. When he got home, he unplugged the phone. There was no use for it anyhow, his father still wasn't home. There would be no calls for him.  
  
As the picture of night slowly settled into the window view, Gordo began preparing for bed. First by showering, then brushing his teeth, then putting on some boxer shorts, his usual nighttime wear. Finally, he took out some time to read "Loss of Breath", by Poe. Yet tonight, lying on his bed, slightly proped up with his three pillows, he could not concentrate on the story. There was too much pain circulating through his veins. The feeling grew stronger and stronger to release it. Just let out a little bit. One more cut. 'Just one more time, and then never again,' Gordo thought to himself. Listlessly, he pulled himself out of bed, carelessly letting the book fall through the crack between the bed and the wall. Slowly, he made his way over to the candle holder that held a buttercream scented candle, and the razor. Hastily grabbing it up, he sat down on his desk, pulled up a leg of his boxers, revealing the skinny, sallow leg beneath. Closing his eyes, gritting his teeth, he endulged his sinful pleasure, laughing out loud, through the tears of guilt and shame. 


	7. Drifting

The next three months passed by in a blur. Each day, Gordo wished away the pain, and each day, he was forced to extract the pain. Let it run from him. Punish himself, while punishing others. Relieving the pressure building within. Forcing himself to feel something. Anything. He had grown increasingly apathetic towards his life. When he thought about it, it made him sad, so he ignored it completely, and felt nothing. He didn't even feel anything while in the presence of Lizzie anymore. He just drifted along with a melancholy expression plastered onto his face. His father was still in complete denial. Reassuring Gordo, and more specifically, himself, Gordo's dad could be heard saying, "Don't worry, any day now, she'll realize everything she's missing. It's just her pride. She knows she was wrong but she's too proud to admit it. Don't worry. She'll be back. I know it." This kind of talk only made Gordo feel sorry for his father, then extreme guilt that there was nothing he could do to help him. School, had also become a blur. Most of the day was spent staring off into space, his mind completely blank. He just drifted, like a feather falling to the ground. It didn't just fall, it glided, following the wind sideways, landing on other desinations. Drifting. Gordo's grades had dropped slightly, because of his lack of energy. If he never moved again, he felt it would be too soon. The urge to come home, pop a few tylenol p.m.s and sleep all day, was greater than ever. Still, when the stress of life consumed him, or when he felt too numb to move, Gordo indulged in his secret vice. Yet, there wasn't much space left. Some of the wounds healed. Some left scars. Some were carved into shapes or words. Others just stuck out, blatantly. Still, no one noticed. 


	8. It's a date

"Miranda," Lizzie said, staring at the sidewalk leading to the library, "look. There goes Gordo. I thought he was coming to school late. Has he been going to the library every day?"  
Miranda casually glanced up from the teen magazine she was thumbing through. "Oh, yeah, I guess. He's probably just studying or something, you know Gordo."  
"Yeah, but I get the feeling he's avoiding me. I mean, I never see him or talk to him anymore."  
"Yeah, me neither, but, you know, we've all been busy. I mean, I don't exactly have a social life with all the extra curricular activities I have," Miranda said, her eyes darting back down to a picture of Ben Affleck.  
"I'm gonna go talk to him," Lizzie said definitely, jumping off the cement lunch table she'd been sitting on. "Wait here, I'll be right back." Miranda nodded, barely paying attention. Lizzie sprinted to the library entrance. Once inside, she scanned the room for his mop of curly black hair. Spotting him, stuck up in a corner reading, she darted over to him, stopping directly in front of his bent knees. "Hey Gordo," she said, as cheerily as she could.  
Caught off guard, he replied, "Oh, hey."  
"So, whatcha readin'?"  
"Um, a book. For school."  
"Gordo, have you been avoiding me? Because it really feels like everytime I try to-"  
"No, of course I haven't been avoiding you," he said, looking to the ground. "No way."  
"Gordo, are you okay, because you've seemed really, uh, preoccupied lately. Kind of sad too. What's wrong? You can tell-"  
"Nothing. Nothing."  
"Yes, there is. I can tell by your nothing. You said it too fast and the way your voice-"  
How did she know him so well? Gordo attempted to use the acting skills that he unfortunately lacked. Changing his tone he said, "Really, it's nothing. You'll think I'm silly."  
"No I won't. Go on."  
"It's just, well, mid terms."  
"Mid terms. That's it? Really?"  
"Yeah. That's it. I mean, I've just been so stressed out lately with my advanced classes that I've been a little grumpy, you know, all this studying."  
"Right, right," Lizzie said quietly, looking away. "Well, I guess I'll go now. Bye."  
"Nice seeing you."  
  
Lizzie walked very slowly back to Miranda. She reached her right as the bell rang. "Miranda, I think there's something wrong with Gordo."  
"You're just figuring that out?"  
"This is serious. I mean, he claims he's just freaking out over his mid terms but-"  
"Lizzie, if this were any other person, I might be worried. But seriously, it's Gordo. He probably actually is just upset about mid terms. I'm sure everything's fine."  
Lizzie looked down. "Yeah, I guess you're right."  
"Of course I'm right. Stop worrying so much. Listen, I gotta go to my locker. See you in fifth?"  
"Yeah, okay," Lizzie said, pushing a strip of blonde hair behind her ear. Pushing her way through the hallway, she made it to her locker, grabbing her chemistry book and then rushing to class just in time. All the way, trying to push all her thoughts about Gordo out of her mind.  
  
By the time P.E. class rolled around, Gordo was too tense to think. He needed to get away. To do something. To cut. Putting a sweaty hand up to his forehead to keep the world from spinning, he started running towards the bathrooms. However, half way there he was interrupted by a, "Hey Gordo!" It was Lizzie. She wafted towards him, sparkling under shining heat like a fine gem.  
"Hey," Gordo said quickly, turning towards her.  
"Look, I know you're busy, but how about you and me and Miranda getting together this weekend for a movie night, like old times. We'll watch whatever you want and we can just relax, you know, take a break from school. You can't keep avoiding me forever."  
She said the magic words. "No, no, I'm not avoiding you, it's just - Okay, I'll come."  
"Great," she exclaimed with a smile, "It's a date. See ya."  
Feeling a rush of elation rush to his heart, Gordo ran back to the P.E. field, feeling reborn. 


	9. While the Lilly white, shall in Love Del...

In the past week, icy reality had frozen Gordo's home into a stand still. He and his father had stopped talking completely, on those rare occasions when they actually saw each other. When Saturday night rolled around, Gordo left for Lizzie's house without even asking permission. His father- at whatever late hour he got home from the bar- would never even notice he was gone. Making absolutely sure he was wearing a jacket, to cover any obvious marks. Then, checking to make sure the door to his room was shut, Gordo headed out the front door.  
  
He reached Lizzie's house around seven o'clock. A dim blanket of blue had settled over the earth, as the last bit of sun, set down beneath the homes and trees. Gordo rang Lizzie's doorbell, even though he would usually just walk in. It had just been so long since he'd been over there. It felt foreign. Strange. It was Lizzie who answered the door, with her brother Matt, buzzing up behind her.  
"Oh," he said, disappointed. "It's just you."  
Lizzie turned around to her brother. "Uh, go away!"  
"Well, I feel very welcome," Gordo said sarcastically.  
"He's waiting for Melena, his girlfriend." The last part was said loudly and enunciated, in a sing song kind of voice.  
Another voice, shouting from across the house could also be heard. "Shut up!"  
"Come on," Lizzie said, leading the way up to her room. Once there she gently shut the door behind them. There seemed to be something on her mind, as she made akward, nervous movements, walking into the room. "My parents are gone. At a football game. They should be gone a while."  
"Oh. Cool."  
"Okay, Gordo, listen, I know what you've been doing."  
"What are you talking about?" Gordo said, uneasily.  
"Gordo, why didn't you tell me? I mean, geez, if something was wrong- I mean, I'm your best friend, you should of- Gordo, why didn't you just confide in me, I could have helped you. I mean, I can help you."  
"I- I, don't know, what you mea-"  
"Gordo, stop it. Don't lie to me. I mean, do you really think I'm that stupid?"  
"No, I just-"  
"Or that I don't care about you?"  
"No-"  
"Well, Gordo then why didn't you just tell me you were upset about something, or that there was something wrong with your life?"  
"I was scared," he said, his voice laden with more honesty than he'd felt in months.  
"Gordo, we're best friends. You don't have to be scared around me."  
"How did you find out anyway?"  
"Well, I didn't buy the, "I'm just nervous about my exams" line. And then I just got way too tired of hearing you reason away your cuts with excuses like, "I fell", or "A cat scratched me". Gordo, you don't even have a cat." Before he could retort, she continued. "Anyway, you'd been avoiding me and I needed to talk to you. I knew you were the last one out of the locker rooms, because you waited until everyone else left to change- "  
"Hey, who want's to change with thirty other guys watching them?"  
Lizzie gave him a serious look. He shrugged and looked back at his shoe laces. "Anyway, I just wanted to talk to you but then I saw you. Before I could call out to you, to tell you to come talk to me, but then, you took off your shirt." Gordo gave an uncomfortable wince, still staring at his shoe laces, which had never been quite so interesting to him before now. "I just want to help you, Gordo," Lizzie said, the first signs of tears appearing in her eyes. Then, her tone growing angrier she said, "But damn it, Gordo, why didn't you tell me? Don't you trust me?"  
"You don't understand. I was, embarrassed."  
"Embarrassed about what? I've known you since you were two. I've seen you pick your nose. What are you embarrassed about?"  
"I just," he paused, slamming his eyes shut tight trying to wish himself to another place and time. "I thought you would hate me."  
"Gordo," Lizzie said, almost disappointed, her voice growing very sad and concerned. "Gordo, I could never hate you. Especially not over this. I just want to make you feel better. Help you stop hurting yourself."  
It sounded so wrong the way she said it. If he was hurting himself so much, then why did it feel so good? Why did it feel like an answer. A solution. He kept his eyes locked to the floor in defiance. "You don't understand."  
"What don't I understand Gordo? Tell me. I'm listening."  
Gordo hesitated. He looked up at her for the first time. "I feel-," he started. "I just wanted to tell you I li-", he stopped. "Nevermind," he said, walking over to her bed and sitting on the corner.  
"No, Gordo," Lizzie said, her tone growing strong and menacing again. "You've been trying to tell me something for months, now tell me!"  
"I-I, just-"  
"Hey you guys," Miranda said, walking in with a smile. She stopped, seeing Lizzie standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed and face downcast, and Gordo, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes also glued to the floor. Miranda could feel the silence building. "Am I interrupting something?"  
Quickly, Gordo found his way out of telling Lizzie. "No, nothing. Let's watch some movies." He half smiled and then his face drifted back to the floor.  
Miranda, dared to take one step into the room. Her face was a mixture of fear and confusion. "So what movie are we gonna watch first," she said, after a moment of sitting in the hot silence. No one spoke. Miranda stepped back to her original spot. "You guys wanna get started?" Still, no one spoke. "Okay, I'm gonna go make some popcorn," she said, exiting as quickly as she could. The room stood still in time for at least five minutes. Miranda took as long as was humanly possible fixing the popcorn. No one deserved to walk in on that kind of tension. Lizzie was the first to speak.  
"Gordo," was all she said.  
He stood up and walke to her, stepping in front of her so they were face to face. "Look, this is hard for me to tell you."  
"Just say what's on your mind."  
"You don't understand. What I'm going to tell you could have a huge impact on our friendship and, I'm scared it will be bad."  
"Our friendship's survived this long, I'm sure-"  
At that moment, Gordo leaned in quickly, pursing his lips into hers. Immediately following the lip lock, his arms moved slowly up her back, pulling her in close to him. He could feel her entire body melt under his grasp. Moving one hand up through her silky hair, he kept the other working to hold her into him as he drank in her kiss, letting the moment seep into his pores. At that moment, Miranda walked casually into the room, holding a white ceramic bowl filled to the brim with popcorn. Standing there for a moment in amazement, she then got bored with the fact that no one even noticed her departure or arrival, tossed a handfull of popcorn into her mouth and carefully shut the door. Lizzie and Gordo, both with closed eyes, managed to make their way to the bed. The layed down on it, still kissing for another ten minutes. Then, as if the planned it, they stopped. Lying there, facing eachother in the middle of Lizzie's bed. They were staring into eachother's eyes, seemingly mesmorized, trying to feel what the other one was thinking. No words were uttered. There was no need. The only thing between them were their hands that were clutched together. They stayed like that for almost an hour. Watching eachother. Listening to the other one breathe. Then they both fell asleep- Lizzie first. Gordo stayed there all night, holding Lizzie's soft hand, breathing her in, still tasting her in his dreams. In the morning when Lizzie woke, he was gone, but as she lifted herself up, she saw a slip of paper on the pillow next to her. Scribbled on the paper, in smudgy black ink, seemed to be a poem.  
  
The modest rose puts forth a thorn  
The humble sheep a threatening horn  
While my Lizzie white, shall in love delight  
Nor a thorn, nor threat stain her beauty bright.  
  
Smiling and blushing, she folding the small piece of paper and pressed it between two pages in her diary that lay in her top desk drawer. Smiling even wider now, she made her way back to bed, and lied down, too excited to move. 


	10. Okay

Lizzie spent the rest of the day smiling uncontrollably and running around the house wondering what would happen next. Aside from quizzical looks from her mother and Miranda's over the phone taunting of "Lizzie and Gordo sittin' in a tree . . .", Lizzie felt her life could not be more perfect. Then, sometime in the late afternoon, Lizzie sat down in her room and began to think about Gordo. Last night really hadn't given her many answers, except that Gordo has feelings for her. Still, he hadn't called her all day, and he left kind of abruptly. Also, she had now idea about what was going on in his personal life, what he was thinking and feeling or why he'd been avoiding her so long. Her hand inched closer to the phone as she hesitated, thinking about whether or not she should call him. Deciding against it, she brushed her hair, put on a nicer shirt and some strawberry lipgloss and asked her mom if she could take the car to drive over to Gordo's house. Getting permission, and the keys, she hopped in the car and headed over to Gordo's house.  
Gordo was leaning back in his swivel chair at his desk, completely motionless, trying not to think about anything at all. His world was too full of stress. Even the one thing that brought him true happiness- Lizzie- was now making him miserable. Even though it was obvious, her feelings for him had been returned, he didn't feel good enough. Worthy enough, for her. Even if she came to him and said, "Gordo, I love you, stay with me forever", he'd still feel awful, constantly second guessing himself. Already he felt stupid for the bold mood he'd mad the night before. Thinking of this brought on an onslaught of other feelings. The anger and hatred he felt towards his mother. The guilt he felt for feeling like his father had become a burden. The worry and curiosity that came from his father's long nights out, where sometimes he wouldn't come home for days at a time. Then there was school. Something that had always brought balance to Gordo's life. So simple for him, because he worked hard to be a straight A student. Yet now, feeling the pressure of life come down on him, he didn't feel up for school anymore. Watching his grades slowly falter, drifting down into the ashes, stuck the last dagger through Gordo's heart. Feeling this build up inside of him, like a thousand needles trying to burst out through every part of his body, Gordo reached up to his hiding place and took down the razor. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes as he felt even more guilt for what he was doing. He broke into heavy sobs, the razor still poised over his left arm. Regaining composure, with a determined look pressing itself onto his face, Gordo prepared himself for another cut, when suddenly he heard a loud banging at the front door. Quickly scattering to hide his tool, he sniffled back the last signs of tears and ran down to see who it could possibly be since there hadn't been a visitor in months. Dashing down the stairs, Gordo flung open the door the second he left the bottom step.  
"Hey Gordo," Lizzie said with a smile, trying to look very calm and casual.  
"Oh," Gordo said in surprise, "Hey. Come in." Gordo ushered her up the stairs, taking in deep breaths in an attempt to control the thoughts that were exploding in his head. Once they were inside his room, Gordo softly closed the door behind them. "Sit down," he said trying not to look at her, for fear he would completely loose all touch with reality. "So, what's up?"  
"Not much, I just felt like I should come see you." Then, with realization slapping into her forehead, she noticed the scarlet that encircled his passionate blue eyes. "Gordo, have you been crying?"  
Growing even more uncomfortable and awkward, he turned away from her, cautiously glancing in his mirror in an attempt to see what gave him away. "No, no. I, uh, just didn't get much sleep last night. I was up late watching a movie," he said, his voice breezily trailing off.  
"Gordo, where are your parents? I mean, I can usually tell when they're here."  
"Um, well, they left."  
"Where?"  
"On, vaccation."  
"Where to?" Lizzie asked, trying not to sound too much like she was interrogating him.  
"I, don't know."  
"Gordo, how-"  
Flinging himself around, his eyes grew a darker shade of crimson and began to leak with salty puddles that he tried to stop. "I don't know Lizzie. I don't, I, just-, " he paused slowly making his way towards her. Then, feeling all those needles burst through his skin, he fell to his knees, directly in front of her, lying his head in her lap and putting his arms clumsily around her, sobbing uncontrollably. She seemed at a loss for words, but looking up around his room, trying to figure out what was going on, she rubbed her fingers through his hair consolingly. "Lizzie, it was my mom. And s-she- . She's gone now and my dad is just gone all the time and he drinks and cries and there's- . I just- I just, I should have done something. I wasn't- a - good enough -son. I'm not right. I don't know. And now I feel so guilty and sad. She hates me and now he hates me 'cause it was, my- I don't know. I don't know. Lizzie, I just," he broke down again, his back vibrating slightly in rhythm with his tears. As he told his story, confessing all the sordid details, pouring all his feelings out in front of her, Lizzie nodded slightly, cocking her head trying to decipher the muffled words he heaved out through his sobs. And he lied there now, his head in her lap, she stroked his head and tried to piece the parts of the story she understood together. Then he looked up at her, his eyes shrink wrapped in tears, and began, "Lizzie, I'm sorry. I disappointed you. I hurt you. I'm so sorry. Don't care about me, you shouldn't care about me. I'm not good enough for you, I just-", she hushed him, putting one finger up to his lips.  
She leaned forward, kissed his forehead and said, "I love you, David."  
She hadn't called him David since as far back as he could remember. At those words, he smiled for the first time in years and it felt better than anything he'd ever felt. It wasn't a faked smile, which actually works in an opposite way. It wasn't a half smile to show that he recognized his life wasn't so absolutely horrible. This time, he felt happiness and utter elation surging through his body, forcing itself against every inch of his being and the only way he could release this pleasure was through a smile. Nothing in the world could have made him feel bad at that moment.  
Upon saying her last sentence, Lizzie then, got up, leaving Gordo heaped upon the chair- still smiling- and left to go back home. She felt happy as she walked out his front door. Holding him there in his room, having him pour his heart out to her. She felt special. Needed. And at that moment she loved him more than she ever had before. Then, on the drive home, she thought about what she had said. Honestly, she did love him. With all her heart. She always had. Gordo- David- was her best friend ever. She wasn't lying when she said she loved him. But what did he think she meant? Did he think she meant she loved him as a friend closer than family? Or that she was IN love with him? Then the thought occurred to her. What did she mean by it? Did she truly love David Gordon? Wasn't she, at sixteen too young to love anyone? Too young to make that big of a decision? A smile crossed her face as she realized, it didn't matter. What she said, what happened last night, what happened today, made her feel truly happy and whatever the future would bring, she would meet it, possibly with Gordo by her side.  
Gordo still hung on the chair, his arms draped over the seat. A broad grin still plastered across his face. Lizzie was too good for him. Nothing could convince him otherwise. Still, something in the way, she held him, spoke to him. He loved her back. Yet nothing was pushing him to fall head over heals into a deep obsession. If her mind changed, he could deal with it, as long as she was always there. All he knew was that she made him feel okay, about the world, his life and himself. If she ended up not loving him as deeply as he loved her, he would be able to handle it. Everything in his life, at that moment, felt, okay. 


	11. Beautiful

A loud ringing sound bounced off the walls of the house, summoning Gordo to the front door. Currently, he was lying on his bed, kissing his new girlfriend. Trying to ignore the ringing doorbell, he rolled his eyes and remained on top of her, gently running his fingers through her golden hair.  
"Gordo, aren't you gonna go get that?" Lizzie asked, pushing him away.  
"Don't worry, they'll eventually get tired and leave. If it's important, they'll come back later." He dived back down to kiss her again.  
  
"Gordo!" She squealed, pushing him up once again. Watching her hazel eyes sparkle as she laughed, Gordo smiled and headed downstairs. His thoughts drifted to the night when they made it official.  
  
** It was a week after she had told him she loved him. There was a huge party at Ethan Craft's house. Even though Gordo would have rather given his left arm than go to one of Ethan's parties, full of drunk idiots making out, or having sex in any corner of the house possible, he agreed to go along with Lizzie and Miranda. Lizzie had given him her puppy dog face and he couldn't resist. That week, they hadn't spoken about anything that had happened between them. Mostly due to the fact that Miranda always seemed to be around. So Gordo wasn't sure how he should act around Lizzie in a party atmosphere. Or for that matter, how he should act in a party atmosphere. Being the voluntary outcast that he was, Gordo hadn't been to too many of these high school parties. Once there, he tried to slip away and go find a corner to hide in multiple times, but Lizzie and Miranda managed to pull him back, keeping him with them. After making small talk with some of the people at the party, Lizzie and Miranda both began to look bored and told Gordo they were ready to leave. If you weren't drinking, doing drugs or having sex, there really wasn't much to the party.  
"Come on Gordo, we're ready to leave," Lizzie said, tugging on Gordo's sleeve.  
"So soon?" He asked jokingly. After a stern look from Lizzie, he smiled and said, "I thought we'd be here all night."  
"Well, it's turned out to be, well, not quite as glamorous as we expected," Miranda sighed out, looking at the mad house around her. "Oh well, at least we got to talk to Ethan."  
The three of them left the party and headed out to Lizzie's car. Miranda was the first to be dropped off, partially because she lived the closest, but mostly because Lizzie knew she had to talk to Gordo sooner or later. The car slowed and came to a stop in Gordo's driveway.  
"So," Lizzie said, looking increasingly awkward.  
"Um, you wanna come up to my room?" Gordo asked hopefully.  
"Yeah, I guess so," Lizzie replied and followed him through his dark, empty house and upstairs.  
Closing his bed room door behind him, Gordo gestured for Lizzie to sit down. "Did you want something to drink? We have Coke, Mountain Dew-"  
"I think we should talk about us," Lizzie interrupted.  
"Right, that. Well, I think, I, I don't know."  
"That's what I thought. Well, Gordo, I don't really know either. My decision about what I want depends on what you want."  
"Well, I don't know what I want. I mean, I do know what I really want, but I don't know if what I want is what you want or what you want me to want. You know what I mean?"  
Lizzie stared at him blankly. "No, Gordo, I have no idea what you mean. Look, I do know this," she paused. "I really like you, and, maybe I always have. It's just, having you open up to me and the feeling I got when I kissed you. It's bringing on these feelings that I didn't know were there. I'm not sure how to react. I mean, I don't know if it's just that I like you because you like me, or if there really was something there all along. All I know, is, I think this is something for you-"  
Lizzie's words were interrupted by Gordo's soft lips. For a moment, she didn't return the kiss, knowing that she wanted something resolved tonight. However she eventually succame to it and melted one again, sinking back into her chair. Gordo, followed, leaning into her. Then, very suddenly, he stopped and pulled back. "Lizzie, I really, really like you. I know you're way too good for me," he put a finger up to her lips to stop whatever retort she was about to blurt out at his statement. "But, I want you to be my girlfriend."  
Lizzie's eyes darted up to his. For few seconds, she seemed to be searching for something in his eyes to tell her the right response. Then, without warning a look of satisfaction consumed her and she simply said, "Yes." He leaned in to kiss her again, but this time, they moved over to the bed, still holding their kiss. Without speaking, they seemed to know what the other one was thinking, and each party became fearless. Completely sure they were doing the right thing, Lizzie lied down on Gordo's bed and let him push his way on top of her. Through breaks in their passionate kissing, each removed an item of clothing. Lizzie felt the warmth of Gordo's hands lifting her shirt off her back and slowly removing her bra. With her hands, Lizzie unbuttoned his shirt, kissing him after each button came undone. Then she seized his belt buckle and he assisted in the removal of his pants. Feeling their now nude bodies pressing together, neither Lizzie nor Gordo felt any shame. On the contrary, each of them felt a wonderful sensation of raw pleasure. Lizzie smiled up at him, feeling truly beautiful for the first time. Gordo returned the same smile, feeling complete somehow. Finally having someone to feel with, to play with, to love, in a way that felt right. Leaning his head down to her neck, he kissed her softly moving down to her breasts and ending with one kiss on her belly button. Lizzie pulled her hands up his body, slowly caressing him. At this, memories suddenly rushed back into Gordo's mind as he became increasingly uncomfortable. His cuts and scars. She would feel them. She would finally be there in the situation. Feeling the evidence of the pain he felt every day. Obviously showing his worry, Lizzie read his mind and said soothingly, "It's okay, Gordo. I want to touch them. I want to know you." At this, she kissed his cheek and tangled her fingers in his curly hair. He gave her a half smiled and settled down. Finally, the time felt right and he kissed her as he pushed his way slowly inside her. She moaned softly, and he proceeded, still going slowly, trying not to hurt her. He'd do anything not to hurt her. Increasing speed with each new moan, Gordo and Lizzie eventually felt connected as one body. Breathing heavily, he pushed in and out, doing his best to fill her with immense pleasure.  
Afterwards, the two felt a new closeness for each other like they had never known before. There was no need for words as they dressed. Every once in a while one of them would steal a longing glance at the other. Even through the wonderful peace and love the experience had brought them, together they had the idea not to do it again, for a while. They decided to take their relationship slow from then on. There was no point in getting serious so fast**  
  
As he reached the bottom of the steps and the doorbell rang, now louder than ever, the memory of that beautiful night was wretched from Gordo's mind. He fought to regain some part of it, but obliged the ringing doorbell instead. As the door swung open, Gordo's mouth dropped open as he realized who was standing outside.  
"Who is it," Lizzie called from her position at the top of the steps.  
"It's his mother," a rhaspy voice rang out, sounded disgruntled and angry and taking a step into the house. 


	12. The Return

"Is your father here?" The woman said, sighing. She took off her thick, dark sunglasses, revealing a woman who looked ten years older than she should have. Her face had grown rigid and tan. More wrinkels and creases stretched through parts of her face. Her hand seemed to shake slightly as she removed her glasses.  
"Mom," Gordo said breathlessly, feeling unable to speak. He didn't know if he wanted to hug her or hit her. His mother stepped into the door forcefully, as Gordo took a step back. He bumped slightly into Lizzie as she now stood on the bottom step looking scared and confused. A tall man stepped in behind Gordo's mother. The man had sandy brown hair and it seemed that he may have been attractive at a younger age, but now he simply looked worn and tired.  
"This is Frank," his mother said, reading the children's expressions. Without elaborating, she quickly changed the subject. "Hello, Lizzie, why are you here?"  
Lizzie opened her mouth to answer, but Gordo interjected. "We're friends mom, we hang out sometimes." Gordo didn't want his mother to know the truth. She didn't care. She didn't deserve to know about his personal life.  
"Well, I know, I just thought- ," her voice trailed off as her eyes scanned the room. "Where's your father."  
Gordo hesitated. He wanted to say that his father was up in his office working on something, or maybe making dinner or even just watching television. Gordo wanted everything to look fine, like they were gettng along just great without her. He didn't want her to know that he hadn't exactly spoken to his father in months. That all he really knew was that his father came home smelling like whisky and cigarettes and sometimes he heard woman laughing downstairs, late at night. That at this moment, Gordo's father may be lying dead in a gutter somewhere. That his father could have been there for days and Gordo would have had no idea. His mind fluttered as he searched for an appropriate lie. Giving up he shrugged, trying to look like he was simply an air headed teenager and said, "I don't know."  
"Figures. Well, I guess I can leave these with you." She handed Gordo a manilla envelope filled with papers.  
"What's all this," Gordo asked, looking backward at Lizzie, who still had the same look of shock and disillusion, yet now a certain hint of disgust had been added to the mix.  
"Divorce papers. I want it in writing. You know, you're really the one I wanted to talk to anyway. Can I come in, Sweetie?" At this, she barged her way into the house and made for the living room. Frank followed close behind, his broad shoulders sloping uncomforably as he glanced nervously around the house. The two sat down on the couch and Gordo and Lizzie followed suit. "David, sweetie," his mother said in a sugar coated voice, smiling brightly, "how would you like to come live with mommy? Wouldn't it be fun? Just you and me, and Frank."  
Gordo's pale sapphire eyes widened at the thought of it. His brain fired off messages to his nerves that said, 'Shake your head', 'Say no', 'Run away', however, Gordo seemed to be able to do nothing more than sit there astounded. Lizzie spoke for him. "No," she spouted, a bit over enthusiastically. "I mean," she continued, biting her lip and turning to Gordo, "you can't leave. You have such a good life here. You've been here forever. This is where your friends are. You can't just leave all that behind."  
Gordo attempted to respond, yet still could not move. Eyes growing wider, he simply stared at his mother who was looking through her purse. There was a long silence, broken only as his mother found what she was looking for. "There you are, my babies," she said sweetly, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. As she took one from the package and lit it, a long strand of pearly smoke poured out. Seemingly, it was upside down. The smoke looked so much like a liquid, yet it poured upward. Dancing majestically, Gordo focused on it. His stare was broken by his mother's stern voice. "Listen, we'll still be close enough for you to visit once in a while. You know, it would be better if you just agreed to it."  
Lizzie's look grew stronger. "Why is that?"  
"Because," his mother continued, looking ambiguously put off, "I'm going to fight to win you in court if you don't come willingly. And mother's always win."  
Now it was Gordo's turn to get angry. "Win? Win me in court? You know, I've never really put the image of our justice system together with a cheap carnival until now."  
"Look, I didn't mean it like that." His mother paused nonchallantly, taking a long drag on her cigarette. Then she continued, completely unconvincingly, "I just want my baby back. I want you to stay with me." Reaching out a hand she grasped his knee and rubbed lightly. "I missed you kiddo."  
Gordo looked almost hurt at this answer. This was all wrong. Even if he wanted to forgive her, how could he? This woman was not his mother. This was an imposter. She seemed more like a teenager. A pathetic, drunk teenager with no real goals in life. How did this life make her happier than the one she'd been leading? Once again, Lizzie spoke up. "Oh, cut it out. If someone paid you I don't think you could have been more unconvincing than that. Why don't you just be honest? Tell us, why you really want Gordo to live with you.  
His mother was teeming with rage as she blew the smoke quickly through her nostrils. Attempting to regain her casual appearance, she leaned forward to tap a few pallid ashes into the crystal ashtray. Lips pursed into a stern expression, she looked down, determined not to make eye contact with anyone in the room. Then, suddenly, a different look spread across his mother's face as she began to cry. "Is it so much to want my son to live with me? My only son. Is that so much to fucking ask? Can't you just except that I love you?"  
At this, Lizzie's expression softened into one of guilt at apparently misjudging the woman in front of her. Gordo however, seemed angrier than ever. "Stop it, just stop it. You know I can see right through you. I lived with you for sixteen years. I think I know a little bit about your methods of attention seeking, ma," he said with a tinge of sarcasm. "Stop it," he screamed, even louder as her weeping continued. As suddenly as they had started, the tears came to a halt. "Look, I don't, I don't," Gordo's own eyes began to well slightly as his lip quivered. He contained himself, holding in whatever he was about to say.  
"Well, maybe we should just let the courts decide. Have your father sign the papers, whenever he gets in. Is he drinking again," his mother added, smirking. "That'll be great for the case. Bye, then, sweetie." The last word was spoken, not in the sugar coated tone she had used before, but in a more snide, sarcastic tone. Gordo watched as the two figures stood and walked out the door. Lizzie's face had a cold, numb look. She looked the way Gordo felt on the inside. Only his was coupled with embarrassment at the way his mother had changed, at the things she did and said. The outfit she wore that was far too young for her. He'd noticed her hair was brittle from being re-died platinum blonde. Lizzie softly bit and her bottom lip. Carefully, she stole a glance at Gordo, searching for his emotion. However, his face showed nothing but a caloused, stern look. There was a hint of disappointment, yet mostly, his mood seemed an impenetratable fortress.  
"I think I need to be alone," he said very slowly, in almost a whisper, as if it pained him to speak. Lizzie simply nodded, strips of her blonde hair flinging restlessly. She leaned over to kiss him. He did not return the kiss, but she understood. "Bye," he said, a little louder, with a very sincere longing in his voice.  
"Goodnight," she whispered back. 


End file.
